


The White Wolf And The Lark

by XansyIsMoi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt has nightmares, Geralt has trouble speaking, Geralt is a mess, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sensory Overload, and saying what he needs, but Jaskier is there to help, jaskier is annoying but he cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XansyIsMoi/pseuds/XansyIsMoi
Summary: A collection of one-shots for The Witcher, and/or chapters that don't make it into my fic(s)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, geraskier - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 107





	1. Blue Eyes That Shine Brighter Than Any Star

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing and it didn't fit into When It Becomes Too Much (Come To Me) so I decided to create a new work to put those sorts of chapters into. I will also take requests and put them into here, so if you have anything you want me to write (fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort) please feel free to drop a comment! Thanks for reading!

Golden eyes wild and flashing in the dark, Geralt reached back for his sword only to grasp air. A flash of confusion shot through him- _Where is it?_ \- before he brings his hands back in front of him, clenched into fists. One doesn’t _need_ a sword to fight.

“Geralt!”

The sound of his bard’s voice makes him pause- _Bad. It only takes seconds to be killed._ \- drawing him from the deepest recesses of his mind.

“Hey, hey- hands down, it’s just me. It’s Jaskier. There’s no monster here, just me. You were... dreaming.”

Dreaming? What d-

Dreaming.

Geralt had been dreaming- having a nightmare- and Jaskier had awoken him. This didn’t feel right. He’d been dreaming? It had felt so real. Geralt shifts back on his bedroll, lips curling into a snarl. That’s when Jaskier reaches forward and gently takes one of Geralt’s hand. The Witcher’s entire arm jerks as if to pull away, but he allows Jaskier to hold his hand, allows Jaskier to rub his soft thumb over Geralt’s scarred knuckles. Looking up into the bard’s eyes, he finds none of the usual bright, humorous light. Instead, Geralt sees a quiet sincerity, gleaming softly in the light of the dying embers of what was once their fire.

“Hey.”

Geralt pulls himself back out of his mind, to focus on his bard in front of him. When Jaskier sees his Witcher’s cat eyes focus in, he smiles. 

“There you are. Was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

Geralt’s voice is rough, raw- _Screaming?-_ “Been here the whole time.”

Blue eyes twinkle, “Yes, you have.”

The two sit together for some time, mostly silent. Jaskier asks quiet questions,

“Hear that owl? Do you know what kind it is?”

Geralt replies just as quiet, “Yes. Spotted owl.”

Or, “Isn’t the sky beautiful?”

Replied with a soft, “Hm.”

Geralt doesn’t mind these questions, simple as they are. He knows what Jaskier is doing, and he appreciates it. His questions- though he asks under the guise of flippancy- draw attention to what’s around them, draw attention to what’s real. It helps Geralt focus.

They sit hand in hand until the sun rises. 

The Witcher’s voice is soft, barely audible, “Thank you.”

Jaskier simply smiles in return.


	2. Trial of the Grasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets curious, and Geralt gets a little irritated. Slight angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think Geralt ever touches on the extra mutations (in the show or games, idk about the books) so I decided to write that. Enjoy!

“How old are you?”

Geralt barely glances at his bard before he answers, “Ninety-four.”

Jaskier whistles lowly, “That explains the white hair, then. You’re old as shit.”

Geralt shakes his head a little and hides a smile, “Witchers age slower than humans. The white hair is from the mutations.”

“But you’re the only one with white hair.”

No matter what Geralt- or anyone else, for that matter- says about Jaskier, the bard isn’t slow. Though he may not act it, Jaskier is rather bright.

“You’re right.”

“Oh-hoho! Do you mind repeating that? I don’t think I heard you clearly.”

Geralt retracts his previous statement.

“Shut up and eat, bard.”

“Hey, no- I’d still like an answer. White hair doesn’t come naturally, and the other Witchers’ hair didn’t turn white- why did yours?”

“I went through more mutations than they did.”

“How come?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and I very much would like answers.”

Geralt gives Jaskier a long suffering look before he sighs, “If you must know, bard, my body tolerated the standard procedure better than other Witchers.”

“How do you mean?”

Geralt shifts in his seat, frowning at the fire before him, growing uncomfortable, “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

Geralt snaps, “Why can’t you stop asking questions?” 

Jaskier blinks at Geralt’s outburst and leans back a little. Instead of pushing it, however, the bard remains silent, with only a tiny nod of resignation as apology. Geralt watches him for a few moments before he looks back to the fire. Long, silent minutes pass- the longest that Jaskier has ever been quiet- before Geralt speaks again, gruff voice hesitant with the discomfort of remembering.

“The Trial of the Grasses is... unpleasant. I don’t know how or why I fared better, lark. All I remember is pain.”

Golden eyes fixated on tongues of flame, Geralt refuses to look at his bard, to show any more vulnerability than he has already, “Does this answer your question?”

A few beats of silence, then a soft, “Yes.” 

Geralt hums quietly, and they’re silent until they finish up dinner, put out the fire, and settle in for the night. Jaskier lays his bedroll out directly next to Geralt, who regards him silently, cat eyes sharp in the darkness of night. When Jaskier settles down, he whispers,

“You’re a strong man, Geralt. In more ways than one.”

He then rolls over, his back to the Witcher. Geralt mulls over this for a few moments before he settles down onto his bed roll, facing away from his bard. With the slow tune of Jaskier’s breathing, Geralt falls asleep.


	3. His Sweet Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS! After Jaskier and Geralt part ways on the mountain, Geralt keeps an eye on the bard- but Jaskier doesn't know this. Geralt watches from the shadows, always, and this doesn't change when Jaskier performs his new song, His Sweet Kiss. Geralt recognizes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Her Sweet Kiss (and it already makes me big sad) but then I imagined it with Geraskier and I had to write it. I may or may not have teared up while writing this. Enjoy!  
> THERE ARE SPOILERS IN THIS SO BE WARNED!!

He's not supposed to be here, he knows that. But ever since he and Jaskier parted on that mountain... Geralt has been feeling things. Emotions. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. So he followed his- _the_ bard. He followed the bard, just to make sure he was okay. Not that Jaskier knew he was there- no, not yet. Geralt had come to apologize, try to mend what he had broken. But not yet. So, Geralt remained in the shadows, hidden in the corner of the tavern Jaskier was performing in. It doesn't take long for Geralt to realize that this was a mistake.

"This is a new song, His Sweet Kiss." Jaskier's smiling, but he doesn't have the energy he usually does. He looks empty, tired. Geralt almost looks away before the bard begins to play.

 _"A savior, they often call him,  
But his love's as unfair as a crook.  
It steals all my reason,  
Commits every treason  
_ _Of logic, with naught but a look"_

Geralt recognizes the song almost immediately; Jaskier had been writing it on the mountain.  
  
 _"A storm raging on the horizon,  
Of longing and heartache and lust  
He's always bad news  
It's always lose, lose  
So tell me love, tell me love  
How is that just?"  
_  
He's beginning to pick out the altercations, and this- This is him, isn't it?   
  
_"But the story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss,  
His sweet kiss  
But the story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss"_

Geralt can feel something rise in his chest at the sound of Jaskier's voice, something that grabs at his lungs, pulls him into a trance. He thinks of all the times they were on the road, and Jaskier would sing a new song for him, and Geralt had pretended not to listen. 

He should have told Jaskier. He should have said something.

_"His current is pulling you closer  
And charging the hot, humid night  
The red sky at dawn is giving you a warning, you fool  
_ _Better stay out of sight  
I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting  
If this is the path I must trudge  
I welcome my sentence  
Give to you my penance  
Garrotter, jury and judge"  
_  
He knows, now. Knows who the song is about.   
  
The band behind the bard swells, joining in on his sorrow, but none of them could ever compare to Jaskier. No, because they didn't understand. Jaskier poured his heart into his music, and tonight- tonight, his heart was broken.  
  
 _"But the story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss,  
His sweet kiss, oh  
The story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss, oh"  
_  
The pain in Jaskier's voice is almost too much for Geralt to bear. It's choking the Witcher, pulling his breath straight from his chest. He thinks he can see tears in Jaskier's eyes. Hates himself for putting them there.  
  
 _"But the story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss  
His sweet kiss  
But the story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss  
The story is this  
He'll destroy with his sweet kiss."  
_  
When Jaskier lets the final note fade from his tongue, he looks up and bows, donning a hollow smile for his audience. The bard scans the tavern, and the smile falls when his attention is drawn to the darkest corner of the tavern.

Blue eyes meet gold.

They hold for a moment.

Geralt stands and walks out of the tavern without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I actually had two endings for this- I ended up using the first one in the chapter, but I figured I'd share the second one, anyway.
> 
> "When Jaskier lets the final note fade from his tongue, he looks up and bows, donning a hollow smile for his audience. The bard scans the tavern, gaze lingering on the darkest corner of the room. There's no one there."
> 
> Or, Jaskier never knows that Geralt was in the tavern.


	4. The Song of the White Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry.

As he cradles Geralt's head in his lap, runs his fingers through silvery strands of hair, Jaskier understands.  
\--------  
 _"The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn,  
The call of a stone heart is broken and alone."_

Geralt looks up from where he'd been glaring at his and Jaskier's fire.

Recognition flashes in his eyes.

_"Born of Kaer Morhen, born of no love  
The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow."_

"How do you know that song?"

Jaskier looks up at Geralt's question, breaking off. "It's how I learnt of you, actually. I heard it in a tavern before I started playing."

Geralt hums and returns his gaze to the fire. 

"Sounds better on your lips.  
\---------  
 _"Bear not your eyes upon him, lest steel or silver draw  
Lay not your breast against him, or lips to ease his roar."_

They're a tavern, now, in some forgettable town. They needed the coin, so Jaskier grabbed his lute and sang the first song that came to his mind.

_"For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone  
For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone."_

The bard catches the Witcher's eye from across the tavern, and he thinks he sees something there. Admiration? 

It's then that Jaskier realizes the song is a lie. The White Wolf doesn't sing alone- hasn't for awhile. Jaskier wants to keep it that way.  
\---------  
 _"Cast not your eyes upon him  
Lest he kiss you with his sword"_

It was a particularly rough battle. Jaskier had found Geralt almost unconscious in the middle of a clearing, amidst dead arachas- the contract had been completed. The bard's focus, however, was on the Witcher struggling to his feet. He rushes forward to help.

_"Lay not your heart against him  
Or your lips to ease his roar."_

"Are you alright?" He notices the gash that runs down Geralt's left thigh, the nicks and cuts that litter his arms and chest. "D'you need a potion?"

Geralt grimaces, "I have no more potions. I'll need to gather ingredients."

And that was that. It was foolish of Jaskier to think that was all there was to it.  
\--------  
Jaskier doesn't realize that he and Geralt didn't stop for ingredients until they're well on their way back to the alderman, trophies slung over Roach.

He doesn't question a thing until he looks up at Geralt. He doesn't realize anything is wrong until he sees the Witcher sway from atop Roach, doesn't remember that Arachas are known for having potent venom until it's too late.

Geralt slips and falls from the saddle.

_"Geralt!"_

Jaskier is rushing forward, dropping his bags, satchels, yanking his lute from 'round his neck, dropping to his knees in the mud beside his Witcher. He can tell immediately, from how Geralt looks at him.

The Witcher's face is open, and in his eyes, Jaskier can see pain and fear and love and worry- and resignation.

"No," Jaskier gets up, rushing to Roach's side, tearing through Geralt's potion bag. There has to be something. Swallow, or White Honey. 

"No, no, no no no-" There's nothing.

Jaskier tries desperately to remember the ingredients- can only grasp a few. Even then, he knows- he can't find them, not in time. He can't remember what exactly they look like, and he can't get to town quick enough to find an herbalist, he can't-

"Lark."

Jaskier turns to look at Geralt through unshed tears. He blinks them away, taking in the white hair splayed across the mud, Geralt's golden eyes, the scar that runs across his cheek, the scar on his collarbone that Jaskier knows continues to his left hipbone, the hand that's outstretched to him.

Jaskier takes in a shaky breath, steps forward. Takes another step. Tries to pull himself together. Keeps going until he's knelt on the ground again, with Geralt's head in his lap. Jaskier is still crying, because Geralt is looking up at him, and his eyes are so open, and this is the last time- the last time he'll get to hold Geralt like this, see him- see him alive, and for a split second, Jaskier hates him.

He hates that Geralt hid this, hates that he took the contract even though he _knew_ that if he were hurt, there would be no fixing it, hates that he didn't take Jaskier up on his offer to just _get away-_ and then it's gone.

The hate is replaced with love once more, because Jaskier cannot change. He cannot be who everyone else is. He cannot hate the man dying before him.  
He watches Geralt raise a shaky hand to his lips- Jaskier can smell sweat, blood, dirt, hates that its there but he can't hate _it_ \- Jaskier kisses his finger softly as Geralt mumbles, 

"It always sounded better on your lips."

As he cradles Geralt's head in his lap, runs his fingers through silvery strands of hair, Jaskier understands. Geralt is holding on, holding on so tight, until he can't hold on any longer.

_"For the song of the White Wolf, we'll always sing alone,"_

Jaskier smiles shakily down at Geralt, whose eyes are trained on Jaskier's.

Until they're not.

They slip away, pupils dilating, and Jaskier has to force the last line out of his chest, force it from around the lump in his throat, because he has to.

Geralt will never hear the end of his song, but Jaskier has to finish it for him.

Because as he cradles Geralt's head in his lap, runs his fingers through silvery strands of hair, Jaskier understands.

_"For the song of the White Wolf, I'll always sing alone."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier understands that it was never the White Wolf singing alone, but him. He alone will sing Geralt’s praises, always. I wrote this in under and hour during school and I cried three times. I’m very sorry.


	5. A Dangerous Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier appreciates Geralt. That’s it, that’s the whole chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got bored and wrote something a little different. I wanted to focus a little more on descriptions and visuals, so I.... did that lol. Let me know what you think in the comments!  
> Enjoy!

Geralt was dancing. There was no other way to describe his movements. He flirts towards the monster, then back out of its reach, graceful and silent, pushing and pulling it where he wanted, leading a complicated, dangerous waltz.

The moonlight caught his hair and set silvery strands ablaze. The same light filters through his eyes, igniting golden irises, irises that remain focused on only one thing; his partner. Jaskier vaguely wonders how a man such as Geralt could be so graceful.

His silver blade slices through the darkness, cuts the night air, displays its wielder’s strength through the path it takes. Black sludge rains down upon the clearing, coating the dance floor in it’s stench. 

Golden eyes never blink. 

A new sound is added to the music of the Witcher’s battle- a low growl. It reverberates in his chest, through the woods, bouncing off the tree Jaskier crouches behind. It’s a deep underscore to the singing of Geralt’s silver, the squelch of blood and mud, the screech of the creature that prowls in circles around the White Wolf. It ties the whole composition together. 

Jaskier tries to burn the scene into his memory, in all it’s dangerous beauty. 

This waltz is over quickly, a silver blade finding home in a monster’s heart. It should be horrifying, and maybe it is. A little.

But for nights to come, curled up on a bedroll, awaiting sleep, the bard closes his eyes and watches his witcher dance the same dance under the night sky.


	6. The Wellerman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Geralt appreciates Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, my hand slipped. Enjoy!

Golden eyes watch intently from a darkened corner of the tavern. Other patrons were thumping their tankards, clapping, stomping their feet to a singular beat; the beat their bard had begun, stamping his foot on the stage below him. 

_ “As far as I’ve heard, _

_ The fight goes on _

_ The line’s not cut _

_ The whale’s not gone” _

Jaskier’s voice rings out loud and clear, stands out against the crowd. It always does. It’s like a pie with filling made by the Gods.

_ “The wellerman makes his irregular call _

_ To encourage the captain, crew and all!” _

The voices swell, whooping and cheering before they continue. Jaskier’s delight is blinding, even from across the tavern. It warms Geralt’s stone heart.

_ “Soon may the Wellerman come _

_ To bring us sugar and tea and rum _

_ One day, when the tonguin’ is done _

_ We’ll take our leave and go, oh” _

Blue eyes catch a golden gaze and holds. Sharp canines flash in a smile before they’re hidden by a tankard as Geralt tosses back the rest of his drink. He slams it down, right on beat, and Jaskier’s smile widens, finishing off the song with a renewed energy, encouraged by his Witcher thumping his tankard to beat in the darkened corner.

_ “Soon may the Wellerman come, _

_ To bring us sugar and tea and rum _

_ One day, when the tonguin’ is done _

_We’ll take our leave and go_.”

The crowd cheers loudly, applauding a performance well done. 

But the bard and Witcher only had eyes for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called Wellerman by The Longest Johns and it GOES SO HARD. I strongly suggest you all take a listen, it’s so good. I would love to hear Joey sing it, its got mad Jaskier vibes. If you have requests, leave a comment! Or just leave a comment in general, I love hearing from you guys! :)


	7. You Deserve Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So- this isn’t Geraskier. In fact, Jaskier isn’t in this at all, sorry. This is Vesemir and Geralt (NOT Vesemir x Geralt, I don’t write that) but I was inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little sad, sorry. Wrote this in like ten minutes with Brother by Kodaline stuck in my head instead of working on my other fics or my schoolwork. Let me know what you think in the comments! Enjoy!

Geralt remembers kind yellow eyes staring down at him, the grey brow above them furrowed in worry. He remembers confusion as he watches his mother’s cloak swirl behind her as she turns and leaves, making her way back down the trail they’d come from. She was leaving him behind, tucked into this old wolf’s arms.

“Mama?”

Geralt- his mother had  _insisted_ that he be called Geralt- reaches a tiny hand out towards her. The kind man carrying him makes a soft, sad noise. When his mother doesn’t turn, he tries again.

“Mama?”

It’s getting harder to keep her in his sights, she’s so far. Hit with a flash of panic, Geralt begins to struggle.

“MAMA!”

“Hush now, pup...”

The man carrying him- Vesemir, he thinks his mother called him- pulls the child closer to his chest, but Geralt knows what’s happening, and he won’t let it come to pass.

“MAMA, COME BACK!”

Vesemir turns swiftly, tearing Geralt’s eyes away from his mother’s retreating form. A wail rips from the child’s throat, and the old wolf makes another soft noise and starts up towards the crumbling keep. Geralt cries and cries into Vesemir’s chest, beating it with his little fists.

It doesn’t bring his mother back.

Vesemir sees it better to keep Geralt close to him, at least for now. His tears seemed to make the other pups and witchers uneasy. 

Geralt doesn’t eat when prompted, staring sullenly at the plate set before him, tear tracks glistening in the dim candlelight. He cries for most of the night on the bed, alternating between soft sniffles and wailing sobs. When he finally seems to settle enough to sleep, Vesemir tucks him in a little tighter. 

Right before the young lad drops off, the old witcher leans down and runs a calloused hand through soft auburn curls and murmurs, “I’m sorry, little one. You deserve a life better than this.”

Sometimes, before he can school his expression, Geralt catches Vesemir looking at him the same way he did that day, when his mother left him to the wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the play on words at the end? I was really proud of that. Tell me what it is in the comments, and what you think of the chapter! <3


	8. “I Am Not Afraid.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt believes he’s a monster, Jaskier tells him otherwise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’m working on the other works but I just got finished with a big school event and I’m taking a little time to revel in not having to work every second of the day. Nevertheless- you guys deserve some content so here’s this little thing I wrote for a friend in like ten minutes. Enjoy!

Geralt whirls around, amber eyes glinting dangerously in the light of their campfire. He stalks up to Jaskier, looming over him in all his broad might, and hisses, “I told you to leave, bard.” The endearment is spat out like venom- and sting, it does- but Jaskier refuses to flinch, to feed into this delusion that Geralt- and the whole world- believes is real. 

“Yet, here I am.”

Geralt’s lips curl into an ugly snarl, “Yes, here you are. A weak, stupid bard with no sense of self preservation.”

Jaskier grins lightly, “Who needs a sense of self preservation when I have you to protect me from the monsters?”

Jaskier can see that Geralt is close to snapping, can see it in the twitch of his jaw as he grits his teeth and the way his nostrils flare with each measured breath. 

“Because I’m the monster you should be running from, Jaskier.”

And- oh, if that didn’t break the bard’s heart. Geralt is still seething in front of him, all hard, sharp lines and anger and chaos and wild and Jaskier- Jaskier reaches out with a gentle hand and caresses the witcher’s jaw. Jaskier sees the brief flash of confusion in Geralt’s eyes before the bard tilts his head and smiles kindly- and that’s a right sight, isn’t it? The stern, hard, angry witcher and the kind hearted bard.

“My sweet, sweet wolf. Don’t you believe a word they say. They don’t know you.”

When Geralt opens his mouth to speak, Jaskier shushes him.

“They don’t know you, Geralt. But I do,”

Then, with a tiny smile, Jaskier slips his hand from Geralt’s jaw to his nape, holding his gaze firmly.

“And I am not afraid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments!


	9. Loving You Never Hurt So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt on the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was working on the other fics and I AM but I wrote this and had to post it SORRY  
> If you enjoy, please drop a comment and/or kudos, they make my day!! :)

Jaskier stands atop the rock, uncharacteristically quiet. Their roles have been reversed- the man before him spits out his words, lost in a whirl of emotions, and Jaskier is silent, taking it all. 

“Why is it every time I find myself in a pile of shit, it’s you shoveling it?!”

Jaskier can feel his heart crack, weeping blood into his choked chest. His voice is equally choked, quiet and unsteady.

“That’s not fair.”

The man before him-  his best friend , the man he spent two decades chasing- spits something else, venom just as evident in is voice as it is in those beautiful, unnatural golden eyes, eyes the bard sees when he closes his own at night, eyes Jaskier seeks when he’s uncomfortable or scared, eyes Jaskier has spent years trying to describe perfectly, eyes that pin him with all the hatred the world can muster, eyes that have seen the cruelty of the world and eyes that have been on the receiving end of that cruelty one too many times.

The man’s face is twisted into an expression of rage and loathing- and there’s something there, there is, but Jaskier can’t figure it out in time, because the man is indeed one of the best in his trade- is skilled in the way of blades, and what he says next is nothing if not a dagger through Jaskier’s heart.

“If life were to give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

Jaskier’s heart finally shatters, bursting into a million tiny pieces, and Jaskier knows there’s no coming back from this. He knows what Geralt is doing, it’s clear as day, but he also knows that Geralt is a grown man and  didn’t have to do this.

If Geralt wants him gone, then the bard will leave. As if to push his point further, the Witcher turns his back. Jaskier watches him for a moment longer, and because he knows too well, because he knows that he could never simply leave Geralt for good- because as much as it hurts, Jaskier is all that Geralt has and Geralt is all Jaskier has- Jaskier takes a deep breath.

“See you around, Geralt.”

And with the broken remains of his heart, Jaskier turns and walks away.


	10. What Whispers In the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potions make Geralt jumpy and overly alert, startling at every noise, sight, and touch. Usually he has it under control, but this was too close for comfort.  
> Or, Geralt has unspent energy, mistakes his hair for a monster, and accidentally slaps himself while Jaskier laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually a prompt asked on the wonderful PersonyPepper's tumblr! Check out their work on Ao3, it's truly beautiful <3  
> Prompt: "I have fairly long hair and sometimes I jump out of my skin because I see it in the corner of my eye at 3 am, moving and I can't stop thinking about Geralt, alert because of potions, returning to camp and just jumping out of his skin because he's still full of potion and adrenaline and what if he did miss one monster" + "Geralt didn’t realise that his hair tie came out so when he feels something lightly brushing along his cheek and ear he ends up slapping himself in the face so fucking hard."

His blood is toxic with potions, thrumming through his veins far too quick for comfort. Geralt huffs a short breath through his nose, agitated with all the unspent energy racing through his being. The alderman had grossly overestimated how many kikimores were in the fields, and now Geralt was paying the price. Everything was heightened- every cracking twig under his boots, every beam of moonlight that flitted across his face, every brush of foliage to whisper against him is deafening, blinding, burning. He almost recoils when the campsite comes back into view. Jaskier sees him approaching, takes in his state, and is quick to douse the fire, despite the fact that he himself can no longer see. Geralt is forever grateful for it, and even more grateful for Jaskier’s hushed whisper.

“Successful?”

“Hm.”

“Unharmed?”

Geralt’s affirmative hums are enough to convince the bard to settle back against his log again. He pats his lap, an open invitation for the witcher to use it as a pillow, but Geralt needs to ready himself for bed, first. He leans down to lay the kikimore trophies on the ground carefully when he notices- a white whisper in the night, brushing his right cheekbone. Two thoughts flash through Geralt’s mind simultaneously,

‘What in the ever-living fuck is that?’

And,

‘Godsdammit, not again’

Geralt reacts on pure instinct, rushing to rid of the monster, to attack before it could truly attack him-

And slaps himself across the face.

“What was that!?”

Geralt can hear Jaskier jump to his feet, but he’s focused on what’s in his hand- or, the lack thereof. He whips around, looking for the mysterious monster- there, flitting at the edge of his vision. He grabs for it, and-

“Fuck!”

Geralt curses loudly as bright points of pain flare in his scalp, then freezes. He gives an experimental tug, and- gods dammit.

“Geralt, are you alright?”

Embarrassment flushes hot through the Witcher, and he pulls away from Jaskier’s worried touch, the bard having hurried from his place on the log to Geralt’s side in search of the issue.

“I’m fine, just- got startled.”

That gave Jaskier pause, “I thought you said witchers never get startled. What happened?”

If he could still blush, Geralt was sure he’d be as red as a tomato. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Hair fell into my face. Thought it was still tied back, and the potions make me... alert, so I confused it for something else.”

“You... confused your hair for- for something else?”

“Hm.”

When he speaks next, Jaskier’s voice is bubbling with barely-controlled mirth, as if he’s trying and failing to not smile. When Geralt glances at him, his suspicions are confirmed.

“Geralt-“

“Don’t-“

“Did you-“

“Leave it-“

“Did you just slap yourself? Because you thought your hair was a monster?”

Geralt’s silence is the only answer Jaskier needs. The bard barks out a laugh, stifling it when he feels Geralt wince next to him. Jaskier’s voice is full off unbridled joy, though it remains kind and- loving?

“Oh, my dear witcher- you truly are the most wonderful being to ever walk the Continent. I thank you.”

The bard presses a fleeting kiss to Geralt’s cheek before he turns and makes his way back to his seat, laughing under his breath. Geralt, despite still feeling uncomfortably warm with embarrassment, knows that Jaskier’s laughter isn’t directed at the witcher himself, and relaxes. It was merely a slip-up, a moment of confusion brought on by too many potions and not enough opportunities to release the resulting energy- witnessed by Jaskier, who, true to character, found a way to turn a shameful situation humorous. Geralt takes a moment more to watch the bard hum quietly to himself, already moved on from The Incident. The witcher takes a deep breath and resumes settling down for the night.

He moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! If you have any prompts/suggestions, I would love to hear them! <3


	11. "You've a Heart, No Matter How Different It Beats"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tells Geralt that his destiny is big, bigger than either of them, and that he is needed.   
> Or, soft fluffy moment, Jaskier humanizes Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally I'll get a line in my head and I have to write something for it. Sorry for posting twice today lol

“The world hasn’t been kind to you, wolf.” Geralt glances up at Jaskier from where his head is nestled in the bard’s lap when said bard speaks. His ringed fingers card through soft silver hair. Jaskier meets his gaze and gives him a sad little smile before he continues. “It’s beaten you down and asked you to get back up far too many times. And I’m not saying it’s right- it’s not. But the world needs you, Geralt.” 

The Witcher huffs and averts his amber gaze, focusing instead on the canopy of leaves above them. “The world has no use of me, bard. I will live and die, and the world will be no different.” 

Jaskier frowns, brow furrowed in an exasperated expression, “You know what I’m talking about, you big oaf. Your fate is entwined with everyone’s on this Continent. We need Geralt. Not a Witcher.” Geralt’s frown mirrors the bard’s, and Jaskier sighs. “We don’t need the White Wolf, dear heart. We need the man inside him. Don’t give me that look- you were a human, once. And no matter what you try to convince the world of, you have a heart, even if it beats differently.” 

The bard’s other hand slips to rest on Geralt’s chest, lute calloused fingertips brushing the wolf medallion, ever-present around the Witcher’s neck. A steady beat thumps against Jaskier’s palm, slower than a human’s but just as strong. Jaskier shifts into Geralt’s line of sight, blue eyes serious. “Look at me, Geralt. This is bigger than you and me. It’s not just us, anymore, do you understand?” Geralt’s lips press into a thin line. 

Jaskier leans down to kiss the tension away carefully before murmuring, “She is your destiny, Geralt. Whether you like it or not, your fates are entwined.” The bard pulls away and resumes his slow petting. 

Geralt ponders in silence for a few minutes before he reaches for the hand still resting on his chest, taking it gently. His voice is gruff, a stark contrast to the bard’s melodious one. “Hers is not the only fate I’m entwined with.”

Jaskier blinks down at Geralt before he smiles. 

“No, it’s not.”


End file.
